


Lasting

by wreckofherheart



Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 03:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6267064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreckofherheart/pseuds/wreckofherheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The moment she kisses her, time sort of fades.</p><p>[Carol/Therese.<br/>A short piece based on their love scene together.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lasting

The moment she kisses her, time sort of fades. 

As if, the very thing that is _so_ uncontrollable becomes _controlled_. It is stopped; everything ceases to spin. 

The dance is interrupted, paused for a brief fraction of a second, and her breaths intertwine with hers. 

Time fades, softly, as do they. They become irrelevant, a distanced duo, seperated from life’s rush, its impatience; suddenly, time fades, it stops, and they kiss, and then they _breathe_. 

Falling together. 

She clings on, knuckles turning white, and cradles her body. Searches for where her heart rests, safely protected beneath the curve of her breast. 

The room collides around them, the sheets pushed aside; their kisses and whispers filling in the gentle quiet. 

And she’s loved, she’s _given_ love, and it is such a beautiful, wonderful, overwhelming sensation, she has to yell out; has to exclaim, so enraptured and wanted.

Then she’ll kiss her. Kiss her. Kiss her.

For she is softer than any man, any kind of person she has ever touched. Her lips, her breaths a warm rush against her skin; she makes her shiver, makes her smile, makes her heart race; makes her own, little world come to a halt. 

She makes her cry, makes tears burn in her eyes, and then she’ll kiss them away. 

One by one.

Therese presses herself against her, kisses her neck, touches her jawline with her lips, and she could sing poetry for this woman. 

If gifted with a voice, she could do just that. A chorus of broken sobs and sweet kisses; a warmth, a home, a happy joy for the only person she has ever come to care about.

To proclaim her love is too frightening; she backs down. Because, surely, if she spoke; let out the tiniest whisper, the moment would collapse. The world would spin again, and she would topple aside, lose her footing. 

So she silences herself: she pushes Carol down onto her, and they kiss. They kiss until they’re rosy-cheeked, aching and breathless. They kiss until they’re tired and sleepy. 

They kiss until time no longer fades; when the morning calls, and reality drags them back, claws deep into their flesh.

Kiss until she’s awake, watching Carol, dressed only in a gown, hearing the Church bells.

Where it could be perfect, everything Therese could have only ever dreamed. 

The moment Carol kisses Therese, time fades; and all that matters is this. This night, this moment, this.

 


End file.
